Countdown to Christmas
by Georgerocksthehouse
Summary: In which there is serious depression, Santa letters, the Beatles, and John and Yoko fluff. Warnings-lack of historical context, language, illogical situations. A lot better than the summary suggests.
1. December 22

**A/N- This is kind of like those 'Countdown to Christmas' stories that are updated daily, weekly, etc. But, this is waay too short to be a true countdown…but it will be a daily update I hope, unless something happens. **

**Disclaimer- I don't own it.**

_blah-_ Writing

Dateline December 22, 1973

There she was, all alone for Christmas. She should've known that it wouldn't all blow away so quickly, that her stubbornness and his sense of pride just wouldn't allow it. Why, she wondered, did they have to fight? Why did they both have to overreact? Why did she insist that he go to Hollywood? In other words, why did she royally screw her life up entirely? To say the truth, she didn't know exactly why. However, she had done what she had done and now she had to pay the price, no matter how miserable it made her.

Her fingers curled around the mug of steaming tea she had just poured, and stared into the murky depths thoughtfully. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Whenever she was alone, she would stare off into space and think, just drift off into her memory. Quite often, she would think of **him**. She would see his smile, hear his voice, remember everything. When she pulled out of her reveries, she would be embarrassed to feel her eyes tear up and to hear her voice sound shaky and unnaturally high. Honestly, she couldn't even sleep without him. It was insane, but God did she need him.

Her last thought had dredged up a memory. She heard, briefly, the sound of a highish guitar, and a voice, George's, singing, "You don't realize how much I need you…" She physically shook her head to eject him from her thoughts, even though the song described her mood perfectly. They had never gotten along, George and she, and her thoughts were already gloomy enough as it were.

Her point, though, remained. It was three days away from Christmas, and she was alone, in no circumstances to remedy that situation. She took a gulp of her tea. The warmth trailed down from her throat to her stomach and it seemed to light a fire in her soul. Standing up decisively, she found a piece of paper and a pen. Sitting back down, she began to write.

As a child, she had never been able to write the yearly letter to Santa Claus or anyone else, for that matter. As such, she decided to write to someone who would never, ever receive said letter. The best thing about it was the fact that she only felt a slight bit foolish about it. It was almost like being a kid again.

_Dear Santa,_

_ I guess that I may be just a little bit too old to be writing you, but I quite frankly don't care. I just need to tell someone about my problem. _

_ It's Christmastime. As even those at the North Pole know, my husband and I promote peace, especially at this time of year. You also probably know that he and I are separated. I'm too stubborn to tell it to him, but I miss him like hell, I really do. I also have somewhat, er, fewer friends than he does. And the ones that I do have are planning on spending their holidays with family or were invited by John to celebrate in Hollywood with him. To put it simply, I'm all alone over the holiday season. _

_ Yes, I've heard that there's no place like home for the holidays, but I honestly don't know where home is. You could say that the apartment here in the Dakota is my home but it doesn't feel like home. You also could say that my home is with John but if we were living in a hotel room that wouldn't feel like home either._

_ I think that I've been a bad girl these past years, Santa. I almost forced John and his ex-wife Cynthia to get a divorce. I caused the destruction of the minimal relationship between John and Julian. I broke up the Beatles, the band that gave John his fame, the one that was comprised of his 'brothers'- Paul, George, and Ringo. Hell, I can't even get along with his family! There has got to be a problem with me, because those three can handle John while tripping on acid but they can't even deal with me for five minutes with a clear head without bickering, and I'm not nearly as bad as John on acid._

_ To add on that, the whole reason that I think John stayed with me, the Japanese avant-garde artist who's seven years older than he is, was because I was pregnant with his child. I miscarried him in the middle of November. Although John thinks that I'm past blaming myself about that, I still feel that it's my fault. And even then, he could have left me without feeling too bad about it, but he didn't. _

_ The whole reason we came to the U.S. was that my daughter was kidnapped by my ex. Again, he didn't have to do that, but he did. And now, he is wiretapped, stalked, you name it, the government does it to him. He gave up so much for me, and I haven't given a thing up for him. I feel really guilty about that._

_ I wonder, sometimes, if John came to the same realization that I did, that I haven't given up a thing for him, and that he got tired of that and is slowly leading me into a divorce. I'm afraid that he might not love me anymore. If he didn't, oh so help me God, I would kill myself. _

_ And one more thing- the whole reason that I was so pissed when I learned that he had cheated on me a whole one time was because I was afraid that he would do the same thing to me that he did to Cynthia. I'm the world's biggest hypocrite, but that's what I'm worried about._

_ Happy Holidays,_

_ Yoko Ono/Lennon_

She gave the letter a quick once-over to check for any obvious mistakes. Besides the fact that her writing was shaky and the tear spots in places on the paper, it was all good enough.

Hastily drinking the rest of her tea and wiping her face, she stuffed the letter into and envelope and wrote her address and an address that sounded Santa Claus-y on the back of it. She hurriedly trekked down the sets of stairs that led to the lobby. She ducked out the back door, shoved the letter into the mailbox before anyone from the press could see her, and hurried back into her apartment. She guessed that her letter would end up in a shredder or someone's collection.

Boy was she wrong.


	2. December 23

**A/N- Here's part two, and the introduction of a new major character- George Harrison.**

**Sorry it's late...I got grounded from the internet yesterday. **

**Disclaimer-Not mine**

_blah_-writing

Dateline December 23 1973

"Stupid fanmail, crazy fucking fans, shitty fame, horrible life-" For the past hour and a half, George Harrison had been muttering such things over and over like a mantra. Why, you ask, was he in such a foul mood? Why was he muttering obscenities about his life? The answer to that, general public, would be the four-foot high pile of fanmail that had been waiting for him when he had arrived. If he had been in a cynical mood, he would have laughed. He was supposedly the least famous ex-Beatle, yet he was wading through a pile of mail for him that was over half his height. He was almost entirely certain that John, Paul, and Ringo never, EVER had that much mail all at once.

But no matter how funny the plight of George Harold Harrison may be, we must leave him for a brief moment to consider Yoko's letter to Santa Claus. If it didn't end up getting put through a shredder or kept to be in someone's personal collection, then where did it go? The answer to that, readers, is not a simple statement.

You see, Yoko Lennon doesn't believe in Christmas miracles. However, the circumstances surrounding her letter could be considered miraculous to some. The exact sequence of events COULD be called coincidental, though I don't believe that it was so. I believe that it was the magic of the holidays. I, however, will let you come to your own conclusions.

Back with George, we find him bravely reaching into the mountain of mail, groping blindly around, trying to find just the perfect letter to reply to. All of a sudden, he shivers, his hand clenching shut, two letters in its grasp. He pulls his hand out of the pile and regards the two letters. The one on top is in a large pale pink envelope and reeks of perfume. There are hearts scrawled around the address. He peels it off of the second letter and flings it as far away from himself as he can. Then, he looks at the second letter.

The second letter was in a plain white envelope, like one you would expect to find a bill inside. The return address was, to his amazement, the Dakota building apartment in which only Yoko now resided. He also noticed that the letter was addressed to Santa Claus.

"What the hell?" he asked thin air. Then, feeling slightly guilty, he opened the letter.

He read through the letter once, not believing his eyes. To be sure he went back and reread the letter once more. Yup, he decided, the world was going to hell.

From the letter, he came to three immediate conclusions. Firstly, he realized that Yoko Lennon was VERY depressed, which was not good. Secondly, he noticed that she was feeling somewhat suicidal along with the depression, which was doubly bad. Finally, he inferred that she didn't believe in 'holiday miracles', which made it all triply worse. In essence, she had lost all hope for things to get any better.

"Well shit," he said to himself, "this is definitely not good." He stopped and thought for all of two seconds or so before stating, "Something must be done, and it looks like I'm the one to do it."

He folded the letter back up and stowed it safely in his pocket. Then, he left the room of mail to enter the regular studio. He grabbed a notebook, two black pens, and his coat before rushing out of the studio.

The main desk secretary, Anne, looked up as he passed her by, running full-kilter. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" she shouted.

"Out!" George shouted back over his shoulder.

By the time that Anne had gotten up to chase him, he was most of the way to his car. By the time she had opened the door, he was already in his car driving away.

He drove to his house first. All the way there he was debated with himself over what to do. Ruthlessly, he turned on his inner critic and shot down each and every plan he came up with. However, he was certain of one thing- the first place he had to go was New York City.

Pulling into his driveway, he noticed that Pattie's car wasn't there. Good. The fewer people that knew he was going somewhere the better.

He quickly packed two changes of clothes, the notebooks, the pens, his passport, and his checkbook in a carry-on bag before hurrying back into his car. He was in and out of his house in a matter of minutes.

He hopped in his car again and was soon on his way back into London, this time to Heathrow Airport. He spent the whole way there focusing VERY carefully on the road- he did not want to crash his car.

As soon as he parked in the airport, he raced to the building's entrance. Then, at a more reasonable pace, he walked into the Transatlantic flight line. Fortunately for him, the line only had one person in front of him, who was already almost done purchasing tickets.

He passed the time trying to thrash out a plan of action. Again, he was pissed off because he couldn't come up with anything.

After an eternity of five minutes, George was able to buy his flight ticket. "I would like a ticket to New York City, please. It's just me and a carry-on bag and I've flown dozens of times. Sorry if I sound rude, but this is an emergency."

Thankfully, the guy behind the counter seemed to understand because he nodded and let it lie. "Can I see you passport?" he asked.

George obliged. The man looked at it for a moment then said, "All seems to be in order. Your ticket is 130 pounds."

George quickly filled out a check and gave it to the guy. He was given his ticket immediately afterwards. He rushed through security and was soon sitting on the plane.

He suddenly remembered that if you chew something during takeoff, your ears don't painfully pop like they do otherwise. He started assaulting his pockets, trying to find something to chew on. Passport? No. Letter? No.

Checkbook? No. Keys? Hell no! Aha, there was that package of gum that he had gotten a few weeks ago, the one he hadn't opened. He pulled it out of his pocket, opened it, and started chewing just as the plane took off. There was no pop, so he assumed that it had worked.

He reached for his bag and grabbed his notebook and one of the pens from inside it. He opened the notebook and wrote in all capitals:

_PLAN_

He then thought for a moment and got a very simple idea. Why not just haul John's ass back to New York City? It was so good, and so simple he was surprised he didn't see it before. In his notebook, he wrote:

_1. Fly to New York City_

_2. Leave note for Yoko_

_3. Fly to Chicago_

_4. Fly to Hollywood_

_5. Convince John to go back_

_6. Fly to Chicago_

_7. Fly to New York City_

_8. Bring John to the Dakota_

_9. Prod John into the apartment_

_10. Fly home_

He flipped the page over and wrote the note to Yoko on the next clean sheet.

_Yoko-_

_If you want a holiday surprise, be awake at midnight on Christmas. _

_Someone_

He had tried to make the writing as different as he could, and he was pleased to say that his writing looked nothing like his.

He then put the notebook and pen away and slept the rest of the way to New York City.

George awoke five minutes before the plane touched down. He almost panicked- until he realized that he had never bothered to unbuckle before sleeping.

When he and the passengers were finally allowed off the plane, there was a mass movement of people towards the customs station. George was there first.

"So, like, how long are you gunna be here?" the pissed-off looking older man standing there asked.

George pulled out his passport and politely replied, "Through Christmas, sir." He placed it on the counter.

The older man took it and wrote the necessary in it before shoving it back at George. George grabbed his passport and left, muttering, "Thank God that's over with!"

He sat down on a bench and tore the note out of the notebook, before standing back up and walking to the Dakota. It was only about fifteen minutes' walk, and he figured that cabs didn't take checks.

Once he arrived at the Dakota, he folded the note in half and shoved it into Yoko's mailbox. He beat a hasty retreat after that, in case she came down.

He wondered what he was going to do to waste some time- before he heard his stomach rumble. He walked back to the airport and bought a big container of French Fries and a large Coke. He sat down and ate those.

Promptly afterwards, he got chased for half an hour by older women- as in older than him women- who all wanted a piece of him...literally. They had scissors.

He managed to escape from their clutches by ducking into the New York City-Chicago line. It was a good thing he got in line when he did, too, because he was the last person to buy tickets before the flight, well, flew.

He slept through all of that flight too, even though there was an obnoxious little boy kicking the back of his seat.

When he stepped off of the New York City to Chicago flight, he heard a group of carolers singing. He was drawn to them like a moth to a streetlight. No more than had he just walked up to them, when they started singing,

"So, this is Christmas

And what have you done?

Another year over

And a new one just begun

And so this is Christmas

I hope you have fun

The near and the dear ones

The old and the young."

Another group, this one young children, sang,

"A very merry Christmas

And a happy New Year

Let's hope it's a good one

Without any fear."

"And so this is Christmas

For weak and for strong

For rich and the poor ones

The world is so wrong

And so happy Christmas

For black and for white

For yellow and red ones

Let's stop all the fight."

"A very merry Christmas

And a happy New Year

Let's hope it's a good one

Without any fear."

"And so this is Christmas

And what have we done

Another year over

And a new one just begun

And so this is Christmas

I hope you have fun

The near and the dear ones

The old and the young."

"A very merry Christmas

And a happy New Year

Let's hope it's a good one

Without any fear

War is over

If you want it

War is over

Now"

With that, everyone in the crowd, including the singers, went off to do their daily business. George, however, was left in a daze that lasted all the way on to the plane to Hollywood and into his dreams, where he saw the same choir, dressed as Christmas angels, singing the same song.

He was pulled out of his dream by a small girl who looked to be no older than three, poke his leg. "Are you dead?" she asked in a whisper.

"No, just sleeping," he replied in equally as quiet a voice.

After that, sleep was an impossibility for him. He was mentally writing and rewriting the 'speech' he would give John in order to persuade him to go back to Yoko. He even came up with two versions, in case he was dealing with a drugged or drunk John instead of a sober one.

After that, he just stared out the window, allowing his mind to wander across the universe. He sincerely hoped that his plan worked, because no matter how pissed he could get at them, they had real love. He didn't even have that.

Once he stepped off of the plane, he knew that he couldn't talk to John straight off. He had to gather confidence, then do it. For being so famous, George mused, he was really very timid. However, he figured, John can have a very violate temper so caution is always the best policy.

After walking around for ten minutes, George decided that he liked Hollywood. He had run into dozens of people, yet not a one had said a thing. It was kind of like being a normal person with a private life. It was something that he had never had the chance to have, with his mega- fame.

He had wandered for about two hours, enjoying anonymity, when he decided that there had been enough beating around the bush. It was time to act. Flagging down a cab, George hopped in, his carry-on bag following.

For his credit, the driver said nothing of his fame. "Where to?" was all he asked.

George thought for a moment, and realized that he had no idea where John was staying. "Do you know where John Lennon is staying? I want to talk to him."

The cabbie grinned and started driving. "Why do you wanna talk to John? I thought you weren't getting along too well."

George groaned, then replied, "I need to talk some sense into his ass, and bring him to New York City."

The driver smiled even wider. "You won't have as much trouble with that as you think. Apparently, he's moved out of that May woman's place. He said that if he can't be with his love, he won't be with anyone at all."

George's grin matched that of the driver. "Really?" he exclaimed. "That makes my job a hell of a lot easier!" The two of them sat in a companiable silence until they reached John's flat.

George wrote out a check for the distance and handed it to the cabbie. Right before he closed the door, he heard a shouted, "He's in apartment seven!" before the door slammed shut.

Smirking to himself, George walked up into the building. He bypassed apartments one through six on the first floor, climbed a flight of stairs, and squared his shoulders, confident with the knowledge that luck was on his side. Then he knocked on the door to number seven.

It took nearly a full minute for John to answer the door. He looked like he hadn't been expecting company, but George had seen worse on John.

"I bring news," George said by way of greeting. John kicked the door farther open. George took it as an invitation to enter and went in. He saw John sit on the couch, so he decided to sit in the chair across from him.

John looked at him over the top of his glasses. It was oddly scrutinizing. "Well," John asked, "what's your news?"

George ran a silent prayer through his head as he replied, "I heard from a person who wishes to remain unknown that Yoko's really depressed. He told me that she's even sorta suicidal."

John stayed absolutely still for a moment, then said, "I actually wanted to talk to you about Yoko anyways. That's what I was worried about."

George relayed all of the information his 'source' had told him.

John looked off into the distance thoughtfully for a minute before asking in a desperate voice, "Do you suppose there's anything that can be done?"

George noted the undertones of panic in John's voice and mused aloud, "I dunno. You know her better than I do." He pulled a face that he hoped made him look like he was thinking. He and John sat like that for a few minutes, before John's face gained an 'I-just-got-a-brilliant-idea' expression.

"Do you think that if I went back, she would stop feeling so depressed?" John wondered aloud.

George nodded. "I bet it would."

"Will she t-take me?"

"Of course she will. It's practically written in the stars."

"Let's do it then."

The two of them spent the rest of the night reminiscing about things in their shared past. And having a popcorn fight. But the plan still floated around in the back of George's mind, for his last thought before he fell asleep was, "Lord, I hope this works."

**A/N- A dozen of my dad's incredible virtual cookies to everyone who spots the Help! Movie reference.**


End file.
